


To Stopper Death

by Alvitr



Series: The High Cost of Living [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Creepy stuff, Gen, Loki gets spoiled for Harry Potter :(, Resurrection, big old magic spell, pain & suffering, playing fast and loose with mythological concepts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvitr/pseuds/Alvitr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of The Avengers, before being carted off unceremoniously to Asgard by Thor, Loki makes a surprising proposition: he offers to undertake a dangerous magical ritual to resurrect Agent Coulson.</p><p>Tony Stark can't help but be intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Stopper Death

  
_“If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people.”  
\- Virginia Woolf, "The Leaning Tower_   


It had been a long day. New York City had been invaded, aliens had been battled, and Tony Stark had personally delivered a live nuclear bomb to another universe. He was really looking forward to a relaxing evening.

But Loki had other plans.

*

Just as Thor was about to slide the muzzle around his head, Loki asked, his voice so casual he might have been inquiring about the weather, “And how fares Agent Coulson?”

Thor froze, and scowled. “Silence, Loki.”

Loki smiled extravagantly. “I was merely inquiring as to his welfare. He looked quite frail the last I saw him.”

“You mean after you stabbed in the back with your scepter?” Natasha asked. “He’s fantastic, thanks.” The entire crew had reconvened at S.H.I.E.L.D., debriefed with Fury, and, after some wringing of hands and fist shaking from a god, the decision had been reached that Thor could take his brother-not-brother back to Asgard, where Tony imagined Daddy was waiting to tell him how disappointed he was in his behavior. 

“Brother, what is the purpose of this?” Thor asked. He sounded exasperated. “You have been defeated. Your words are merely that, only words.”

Loki flinched for a minute, as though he’d just had a bad bit of deja vu, but quickly recovered. “Words mean something when they are backed up by action,” Loki said.

“Action?” Steve said. “What --”

“I can bring him back.”

Silence.

Loki smiled further. “Consider it … reparations on my part.”

*

“What’s his angle?” Natasha whispered. The Avengers had convened to a room adjoining to Loki’s holding cell. Once Fury had arrived, they set to discuss Loki’s unusual offer. Through the one-way mirror they could see Loki, smiling casually as though he were not heavily manacled in the middle of a holding cell, alone. It did not give any of them a good feeling.

“Never mind his angle,” Clint said. “It’s obviously a trick. Either a complete fabrication, or a trap.”

“Is it even possible?” Steve asked. Everyone looked at Thor.

He cleared his throat. “It is,” he said. “I am not well-versed in sorcery, but I do know that highly skilled sorcerers can summon the soul of the living back and return it to its body.”

“And Loki could do that?” Natasha said incredulously.

“I do think he could,” Thor said with some trepidation.

“Wait, I’m sorry, why are we even discussing this?” Clint said. “We cannot trust Loki. He has nothing to gain by this, so it must be a trap.”

“Thor.” Fury had remained silent throughout the conversation, sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, apparently deep in thought. “Why do you think Loki’s made this offer?”

“To fuck with us?” 

“Now, now, Barton. Maybe he’s sincere. Maybe his heart grew ten sizes this day,” Tony said. 

Thor considered this for a moment. “It is possible that he thinks this might reduce the severity of his sentence when he goes before our father,” he said.

“That’s a bit more likely,” Natasha said.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Tony spoke up. “What’s turning around in your skull, Brucey? You haven’t said a word.”

Bruce sighed. “I think we need to get more information,” he said. “I have to admit, I’m kind of curious.”

“If there was some way we could be sure that he’d actually hold up his end of the bargain,” Natasha mused, “And to make sure he couldn’t escape.”

“Are you all seriously considering this?” Clint said, looking distressed. “Why?”

“Because it’s Phil,” Tony said.

Everyone was quiet again. 

“I mean,” Steve said eventually, “if there’s a chance…”

Thor stood, interrupting him. “Friends, there may be a way.”

*

“Loki. Do you swear that you will perform this ritual exactly as you have stated; that you will strive to bring Son of Coul back to the living, and that you will not harm any one further in the process, and will make no attempt to escape?”

Thor was holding his hands out to Loki, who had stood and faced him when they had re-entered his holding cell. He closed his eyes for a minute, sighed, and then raised his two manacled arms and placed them his hands in Thor’s. “I swear,” he said simply.

“And you are aware of the consequences for breaking this oath?”

Loki opened his eyes and grinned. “Terrible things, I’d imagine.”

“To be cursed, forever, to the end of your miserable existence; and even after death, to find no possibility of rest thereafter.” Thor paused, and then said. “Then the geis is placed.”

Suddenly, a silvery glow emanated from their hands, so bright that it made the both of them flinch When it subsided, a silver mark had appeared on the back of each of Loki’s hands. 

“So it’s like a magical pinkie swear then?” Tony piped up.

Thor began to unlock the manacles that connected Loki’s wrists to his neck.

“Is that really necessary?” Clint asked uneasily.

“I can hardly perform the arduous task of resurrecting the dead while bound like an animal for slaughter,” Loki said. Freed from his bonds he stretched, rotating his sore wrists and rolling his neck. “Right,” he said, slapping his hands together. “Let’s get started then.”

*

Loki at work setting up a highly complicated ritual was rather different than Loki at work trying to take over the Earth, Tony discovered. There was much less shouting and proclaiming his own magnificence, for one. However, he was still quite demanding and arrogant.

His demands were very specific at the outset. Coulson’s body needed to be brought to a room no more than thirty feet away his holding cell. (“But not in the actual room,” Loki said. “Why?” asked Steve. “Well, it’s just distracting.”)

Loki set to work preparing the ritual space. He began to cover the floor in a series of mysterious and esoteric characters. Using a Sharpie marker. “Ideally, this should be done using ink made from the galls of wasps and ground obsidian,” Loki had said. “However, this will simply have to do.”

Tony eyed the glyphs on the floor curiously. He had expected them to be in the form of some Tolkien-like Norse runes, but they were unlike any text he had ever encountered: in some spots they were jagged, others smooth and curling; all written with bold flourish. He took a peek at Loki, who was kneeling on the floor, staring at his work and biting his lip, his eyes flashing back and forth, as though he were a diligent math student double checking his equations. “What are these things, anyway?” Tony asked.

“Words of power,” Loki murmured without looking up, “and binding. And passage between realms.”

Tony made a low whistle. “Yer a wizard, ‘Arry.”

Loki did look up at this, and made a face.

“Pop culture reference,” Tony said, used by now to having to explain half of his idioms to Thor.

“Yes, I’m well aware, Stark,” Loki replied, standing up and snapping the lid onto the mark with a sharp click. “Unlike my so-called brother, I actually took my duties as prince seriously, and kept myself informed on the cultures and habits of the nine realms.”

“Oh,” Tony said flatly. He waited a beat, then asked sweetly, “Did you know Snape kills Dumbledore?”

He was very glad Loki’s glares were not, in fact, magically lethal.

*

The next item on the list was a shallow basin. This Loki placed in the center of the circle of markings. 

“What goes in it?” Steve asked innocently.

“Blood.” 

“Excuse me?”

Loki sighed. “I will require a small amount of blood from all of you, as you are the closest acquaintances of Agent Coulson’s available.”

Steve looked a bit sick.

“Do we have to cut our hands with some kind of creepy magic dagger?” Tony asked.

Loki looked incredulous. “No, Stark. Venipuncture will be more than adequate.”

So Bruce took samples of each of their blood and gave them to Loki, who immediately emptied them into the basin and swirled them together.

“Now before we start,” Loki said, “there are a few rules you must follow. I assume you will all be watching?” 

“Uh yeah,” Tony said. “I’m ready to see some hocus pocus.”

“We’re not letting you out of sight,” Clint said. “We’ll be in the observation room the entire time.”

“In that case,” Loki said, “Know that this is an extremely dangerous ritual. Not,” he clarified in response to their scowls, “for any of you, but for myself.” He cleared this throat and rubbed his hands together. “I will be tested,” he said. “The results of those tests may be … disturbing. It is important that no matter what, the ritual is not interrupted. It would spell disaster for the outcome of the spell, and for myself. Not that I imagine that troubles you much.”

“Brother,” Thor said softly. 

“What kind of tests?” Natasha asked. 

Loki smiled. “I have never personally performed this ritual, Agent Romanov. I suppose they will be a surprise for us all.”

“Anything else we should know?” Fury asked.

“Yes,” Loki said. “After the ritual is completed I am likely to be … indisposed for some time. The instructions for what you must do immediately afterwards are written here.” He held out a piece of paper. Bruce took it, and read it curiously. Loki’s handwriting was neat and well-formed but somehow strange, like the letters were formed by someone who was used to writing in a very different way. “It is important that you follow every step exactly, and with great haste. Every second is vital. It would be very displeasing to go to all this trouble for absolutely nothing.”

Clint couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“That is all,” Loki said. He stepped into the center of the circle, then made a vague gesture down his body. His armor melded and transformed in a plain black robe. He pushed up the sleeves, exposing his forearms, and lowered himself to his knees.

Tony smirked. “Who’s kneeling now?” he whispered to Clint, who suppressed a chuckle.

Loki looked sharply at him. “If you all don’t mind, could you please remove yourself to the observation room? I must concentrate.”

They all tiptoed out and took their seats on the other side of the mirror.

Inside the cell, Loki had reached one hand out and pressed a finger into the basin of their mixed blood. He lifted it to his face and painted a symbol on each cheek. Then one long line down his throat. Then he pressed one finger to his tongue. Tony stole a glance at the others, and was relieved to see they were all similarly repulsed, except maybe Thor, who just looked concerned. 

Loki then dipped both his palms into the basin. Dripping with blood, he placed each on either forearm, leaving behind bloody handprints. He let out a long sigh, and closed his eyes.

*

The ritual was pretty boring for the thirty minutes or so, Tony thought. Loki just sat, frozen in the same posture, his eyes closed and his gross bloody hands placed on his thighs, just above his knees. After awhile his head drifted down to his chest and his breathing became low and deep. Just as he began to wonder if Loki was having them on and actually was taking a nap, though, everything changed.

Loki’s body went completely and noticeably rigid. His hands clenched his thighs, and he took an audible gasp. Then his back arched. His head fell back, exposing his neck, still covered in drying blood. His hands moved to his side, outstretched, palms upwards. His eyes opened. They were glazed.

He began to murmur. The words made no sense to any of them.

*

Even though they were on the other side of that opague mirror, he could feel the eyes of the Avengers on him. This, in addition to his own exhaustion from the lost battle, made it difficult to find his way at first. But eventually, after several false starts, he felt the path beneath his feet become firm. The way was still dark, but he could feel walls on either side of him; he followed them, his fingers grazing over rough stone or brick. 

A dim light appeared on the horizon. He hastened on.

When he emerged, he was in a thick, gnarled jungle. The ground was carpeted with vines; the sun barely penetrated the canopy of trees. No wonder the light had been so dim.

 _Onwards_ , he thought to himself. _I must make haste._

He imagined himself a blade; short but sturdy, and good for cutting away vines. As he hacked his way through the brush, he wondered again why he was doing this.

_Curiosity, perhaps. I’ve never done this before._

_No, cunning. If I can secure this boon for them, perhaps one day it will serve me well._

_Regret._

He grimaced. _Fool’s talk_ , he hushed himself. _There is no room for why here. Focus on the task at hand._

Presently he sensed the foliage beginning to grow less thick. He emerged from the jungle to find a high wall, covered thickly with vines. And leaves.

_The first test._

Loki began to climb.

*

After while, the muttering petered out. There was silence and stillness for awhile, and then Loki’s breath became ragged. He twitched. Tony leaned forward, squinting. There was blood dripping from Loki’s palms.

 _Shouldn’t it be dry by now?_ he wondered, before realizing. _Oh. It’s fresh._

Pools of blood were filling Loki’s palms.

*

At first the thorns had been merely a nuisance. Then they became rather painful. Then they became a torment. 

The bloodier his hands and feet became, the harder it became to find purchase. He slipped several times, and nearly fell of the wall entirely more than once. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his entire body against the surface, ignoring the stinging against his face, his arms, his side. 

_Keep going,_ he urged himself. _This is nothing, this is nothing. It is only the first test. You’ve barely begun._

Eventually he reached the top. There was just enough space for him to sit, dangling his legs over the other (blessedly bare) side of the wall. He spent some time just sitting there, gasping for air, before he finally looked down to see what greeted him. The other side of the wall was extremely smooth, unscalable. Below him was a moat of dark, impenetrable water.

_Well, there appears to be only one way down._

Loki jumped.

*  
The gasping and twitching eventually stopped, but not until there were tidy pools of blood surrounding Loki’s still-kneeling figure. It came not just from his hands, but in rivulets down his arms. There were even a few running down his face and neck. 

Tony was surprised by the sound of the door. Barton stepped in; he’d been so intent watching Loki that he hadn’t realized he’d even left the room. “I made popcorn,” he said. “Did I miss anything?”

*

The water felt blessedly cool on his wretched, torn skin. Loki surfaced quickly and treaded water for a moment, catching his breath, and began to make towards land. 

Until something creeped around his ankle and tugged.

*

“Oooh, I’ll have some,” Natasha said, and dug her hand into the popcorn bag. Everyone dug in.

They were distracted by Thor grunting suddenly. They turned their attention back to the ritual.

“What’s happening?” Bruce said, confused.

“He’s … choking.” Natasha looked thoughtful.

For the first time since he had appeared to go into the trance, Loki’s arms had moved from his sides. Now the were at his neck. He was grappling at something none of them could see, and he was gagging and gasping for air.

*

Whatever had grabbed his leg had pulled him down, quickly. One moment he was within reach of land and the next he was deep under the water, wrapped in smooth slippery strands that were nonetheless powerfully strong. They slipped up his legs, his torso, and then creeped around his neck. 

Desperately, Loki wrestled with them, but each strand slipped through his fingers. It was like seaweed, but thick and durable, and he couldn’t get a good grip.

Things began to go dark. Beyond dark. Then within the dark, colors moved: blues, purples, reds. He saw stars. He was falling. Falling again, his father and brother becoming smaller and smaller specks in the distance. The darkness was creeping into him. It was choking him. He’d never known that space could be so thick, so cloying. So heavy.

*

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Steve asked, his brow furrowed.

“He said not to interrupt,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, he’s being tested,” Barton said.

Thor gritted his teeth.

*

Loki snapped back to himself. He was not in space, damn it. He was not falling. He was being _dragged_ , downwards. He was _drowning._

 _Enough!_ He thought. _I am Loki of Asgard, and I will not be defeated by KELP!_

The solution presented itself quite suddenly. Loki concentrated, and, with the last vestiges of his strength, transformed himself into a sea snake, and slithered out of the grasp of the seaweed with ease. 

When he emerged from the water and had put some good distance between himself and the bank, transformed back into his humanoid form and fell to his knees, vomiting up fetid water and snake scales. Then he flopped over on to his back and lay there, grateful for the firm ground beneath him.

 _The second test is complete_ , he thought, and laughed in triumph.

*

Loki hadn’t choked to death, so they felt free to enjoy their popcorn again. 

His bloody hands had fallen loosely to his sides again, before creeping slowly back to their outstretched position. His face looked calm and slack. Strangely peaceful, and so when he let out a sharp, low bark of a laugh, they were all startled, and more than a little creeped out.

*

The landscape had changed. That was the first thing he noticed.

When he was on the wall, there had been a grassy field past the moat, stretching out until it faded into mists. Now he was on a sandy stretch of beach. When he turned back, the moat had become the sea; the wall, the jungle, all were gone.

Loki was not surprised. This was how this space worked.

He began to trudge through the sand. His limbs were sore and tired, but felt strangely bouyant. He was deeply into the ritual now. There was no turning back. Little sparks of energy and excitement fizzled through him. This was always how it was, when he took on challenging magic. He found the danger intoxicating.

Beneath the sands, a stone path was becoming visible. He followed it, and it became clearer; the sea and the beach retreated, now tamed. 

The sun was very hot. He was beginning to sweat; drops trickled down his back, his brow. The ground soaked up the heat, so even his bare feet felt hot.

Indeed, they felt very hot. Unnaturally so.

It took a surprisingly long time for him to realize why. The stones of the pathway had become red and glowing. They were, quite literally, burning him. 

Hissing in pain, he tried to stumble off the path, but drew up short. Another thing had slipped his notice: the scraggly bits of sea grass he had seen dotting the sand had increased. They had also at some point acquired spikes.

So there was his choice. Walk on burning stones or be prickled to death.

 _I’ve had enough of violent vegetation_ , he decided, and, grimacing, drew himself up and continued down the path.

*

Beads of sweat were forming on Loki’s upturned brow. His face was red, and his lips were stretched back to show gritted teeth. His hands had become tightly clenched.

“How long have we been going for?” Tony asked. 

Natasha glanced at her phone. “About ninety minutes.”

“How long do you think it takes to raise the dead?” he asked.

“I’d say three or four hours, at least,” Bruce said.

“I told you we should have got shawarma first,” Tony muttered.

*

By the time he reached the city at the end of the path, Loki was stumbling, only just able to keep to his feet. After the first mile he’d been unable to halt the tears of pain and frustration from sliding down his cheeks; by now he was letting out harsh sobs, mixed with curses. Those curses felt like the only thing keeping him going. Each one seemed to give him a little strength.

_Damn Thor. Damn Father. Damn Coulson. Damn the Chitauri. Damn the Bifrost. Damn me!_

When he finally stepped onto normal, cool stone, he sat down with a thud. He sat in a patch of delicious shade. Nothing had ever felt so good in his life.

He sat there, feeling peaceful and relieved that he had completed the third test, before finally forcing himself to stand again and continue on.

He entered the city.

*

They had all watched the sight of Loki’s sobs with some interest. Except for Thor; he was pacing like a caged animal, his face stormy.

“You know,” Clint finally conceded, “I’ve been wondering from the outset if this is all just an act. But if so, I have to admit…” He slowly clapped. “And the Oscar goes to …”

“I wonder what’s going on in there,” Bruce murmured. “In that mind of his.”

*

The city was made of worn gray stone. Here and there there was a sad, tiny, withered tree. It seemed completely empty.

That was, until Loki heard the first voice. 

_Do the frost giants still live?_

He stopped, mid-stride. The hairs on the back of neck prickled.

_I’m ready, Father!_

_So am I!_

His own youthful voice filled him with repulsion. He tasted poison.

He hurried on.

The voices followed, however.

_Am I cursed?_

_No._

_What am I?_

_You are my son._

Loki quickened his pace.

_I will not fight you, brother!_

_You’re not my brother! I never was!_

Something buzzed rapidly past him, just clipping his shoulder. He jumped, startled, and saw out of the corner of his eye a blur heading straight towards him. He ducked, just barely missing it, but was not fast enough to miss another hit from behind.

_I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!_

_No, Loki._

“Shut up!” he shouted.

*

Loki had begun to rock gently back and forth about ten minutes. Just a little at first; it was barely noticeable. Then the rocking became more pronounced. His hands wandered up to his head, fingers pressing into brow, as though he were thinking deeply. He was whispering softly to himself.

They all jumped when suddenly he roared, “Shut up!”

Natasha, who had been whispering to Clint, cringed, and looked a little guilty. But of course, Loki could not hear them.

*

He was being bombarded. It was relentless. Projectiles hit from all sides; his pace had slowed to a stop, and he was crouched down in ball on the ground, covering his head and face as best he could. But nothing could block out the voices.

They seemed to melt together into one. His father, Thor, his mother, himself -- ex-lovers, ex-friends, even the bloody Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. -- accusing him, mocking him, begging him, pleading him --

_stop Loki don’t do it turn back you bastard please darling I hate you why did you come here why did I take you I should have left you there to die_

“No no no,” he murmured, “no. Stop. Stop stop stop stop…”

_don’t let go you can still come back it will be like old times in the shadows brother son come back_

“What do you want?” he begged. “I don’t understand. It makes no sense!”

_I never wanted you you were always weak the weak one neither of them wanted you left to die we’ll never leave you never leave you_

Loki screamed.

*

Loki screamed.

His hands had clamped themselves over his ears and his rocking had become violent by this point. They were all perfectly still, watching him with interest. Thor had almost gone to him at one point, but Steve stopped him with a glance.

There was no turning back.

*

 _You must move forward_ , a calm voice in Loki’s head spoke. _Ignore it. Move. Crawl. Do something._

He breathed raggedly. No. There was no way. He couldn’t move.

_To not move is death. You must move._

Shaking, he slid his arms to the ground and lowered himself, pulling himself along, as the voices and the projectiles assaulted him. He crawled on the ground blind, like a low and dirty snake. He breathed in dirt and spat it out. He kept moving. 

*

The screaming and the rocking ceased. Loki was still bent over himself, breathing hard, but gradually he straightened up. His arms assumed their regular pose. They were covered in bruises, and only shaking a little.

*

Eventually his fists struck against stone. A step. He pulled himself up onto it, and then through a doorway. The moment he passed through it, the torrent of voices and punches stopped. He lay flat on the flagstones, unable to raise himself, unable to even think.

There were footsteps coming toward him, but he couldn’t raise his head to look.

A crystal goblet was placed next to him. “Drink, darling.”

Loki’s breath stuck in his throat. He lifted his head.

“Mother?”

She smiled. “Come, stand. You are more than halfway through, Loki. Take pride in yourself.”

With some difficulty, he got to his knees. Picking up the goblet, he drained it, and sighed with relief. It tasted sweet, and felt smooth and cool going down his throat. He stood.

“Am I really close, mother?”

“You are, dear. You are very nearly there.” She offered him a plate. On it was a small loaf of bread. “Eat this.”

He hesitated.

“You must,” she said. “I’m sorry, darling, but it is the next step.”

He readied himself, and ate the bread.

*

“Hey, Loki’s choking. Again.”

Natasha sighed. “This is getting repetitive.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clint said. “I could certainly watch repeat performances of Loki choking, though I’d prefer it was on my fist.”

*

There was something heavy and thick stuck in his throat. He hacked and hacked, and he could not seem to get it up.

His mother rubbed his back. “Cough it up, Loki.”

He tried to protest that he couldn’t, but he couldn’t breath. He made only a rasping sound instead. 

*

Loki was almost prostrate on the ground, his hands slamming against the floor as he retched desperately. Tentatively, he put one hand in his mouth and reached around in it. 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said. “What is he doing?”

He made another retching sound and tugged, and something shiny trickled from his mouth.

They all watched in mute and horrified fascination as Loki began to pull and pull, gagging all the while. A long, silvery chain was emerging from his throat. After several minutes of this, it came completely free, and landed in a pile in Loki’s hands. 

*

“There, you’ve done it,” Frigga said. She pushed the goblet to him again. “Drink again, dear.”

He downed it gratefully. The chain he kept clasped in his hand against his chest.

“Don’t lose that,” she cautioned. “You need it.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely.

“Is that better?” she asked. She gestured towards a door behind her. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Who?”

“Your father, of course.”

“Oh. Of course.”

*

A little over three hours had passed since the ritual had begun. Clint was nodding off a bit in his seat; Natasha was playing Candy Crush Saga on her phone. Bruce was reading through his notes. Even Steve and Thor were flagging somewhat. Only Tony remained closely monitoring Loki’s progress.

He had to admit he found the entire procedure fascinating.

Loki was quiet now. He seemed to have steadied somewhat; his tremors had decreased, and the chain that he’d expelled was clamped firmly in one of his outstretched hands. His jaw was clenched, in an expression of determination, Tony thought.

Tony wondered what it was like in there -- in Loki’s mind, as Bruce had phrased it, or wherever he presently was. What had he shielded himself from during those moments when he had screamed? What was it that had made him weep so harshly? 

And most importantly, why had Loki submitted himself to these trials in the first place?

*

Loki halted as he reached the door. It was tall, imposing, made of intricately molded gold. He reached out and placed the palm of one hand, the one holding the chain, flat against it. 

He did not want to enter here.

He turned back. “Mother …” he began, but she was gone. Everything was gone. Behind him there was nothing but space. His breath caught in chest. 

_I can’t go back there._

He swallowed hard and set his jaw. He pushed.

The door opened onto a room bathed in darkness. In the dim light of faraway windows, he could see high pillars. A shudder passed through him. 

He knew this place. 

His legs, he found, were moving of their own volition. He could see them: the hammer, the casket, the gauntlet. This was his father’s treasure room. Where he and Thor had boasted of their future glories, eager to impress Odin, so long ago. In … happier days.

At the very end of the hall, his father stood. His back was turned to Loki. 

“I’m here, father,” he said.

“For what reason have you come to this place, Loki?” Odin asked, without turning.

He drew himself up, and recited, in as steady a voice as he could muster, the words he knew were required here: “I have come to retrieve the essence of the human Philip Coulson, of Midgard, to return it to its corporeal body.”

“Have you passed the seven tests?”

“I have.”

“Are you prepared to face the final trial?”

“I am.”

“And why would you do this thing?”

Loki hesitated. This was not in the script. “I…” he started, and trailed off.

“Answer.”

Licking his lips, Loki offered, “I … I have come to undo what was done by my own hand. To make recompense.” The words tasted metallic on his tongue, and he hated them. _No, no, that’s not it, not at all._

“And do you think that will absolve you of your crimes?” Odin persisted.

Again, Loki faltered. “No -- no, I don’t … I didn’t mean, that is …”

“Will the return of this single human’s soul wash away the lives your actions took? On Midgard? On Jotunheim? Will they forgive you? Will Laufey?”

Loki gritted his teeth. “I want no forgiveness!” he snarled. “Not from them! I only want … I want …”

“To wipe the red from your ledger?” Odin turned to face him. “Can you? Can you wipe out _that much red_?”

Loki gasped, and stepped back. The figure before him was not Odin at all; or was not any longer.

It was the Other.

The creature advanced on him. Its weird, withered mouth opened and closed; a dark tongue slithered out and touch its wrinkled lips. “You have failed, Loki of Asgard. Now you will pay the price.”

His heart thudding so hard in chest it felt like it might shatter his rib cage, Loki instinctively cloaked himself in his armor. He struck a defensive pose, his staff extended. “Stay back,” he warned.

“You will not die a simple death. That is not for you, Loki. You will linger, on the brink, for eternity. You will forget everything besides your agony. You will forget you were ever called Loki.”

Loki couldn’t help it; the Other was so close -- he stepped back.

And something wickedly sharp pierced his back, erupting through the center of his chest with such suddenness and force that he stumbled forward for a minute. He looked down; there it was, its curved tip having somehow penetrated even his armor. 

Loki turned his head to look behind him. He knew what he would see.

His own face, smiling in triumph.

*

Tony leaned forward. He could sense that something was happening. Loki’s body was almost vibrating with tension. His mouth was pressed in a tight line.

Suddenly his body shuddered, actually jumped forward a little, and his hands went to his chest, pressed tightly against a spot just below his ribcage.

“What is he doing?” Bruce wondered, his attention caught by Tony’s intake of breath.

Everyone turned to look. That was when blood began to pump profusely from between Loki’s fingers, as though emanating from a deep wound.

*

But that wasn’t what he saw.

No. It was Coulson. He was smiling, but not in triumph; a gentle, prodding smile. “You lack conviction,” he said, and ripped the scepter from Loki’s body. 

Loki dropped his staff. He almost dropped the chain, too, but caught it before it fell. He slumped over, his hands pressing to the gaping wound in his torso. For a minute he couldn’t think at all. Before him, the Other was frozen in mid-step. Loki’s head spun wildly. He pressed his fingers hard against the wound, and hissed in pain. That snapped his mind back into focus.

_Are you prepared to face the final trial?_

Panting heavily, Loki nodded. “Yes, father,” he said. “I am.”

*

The blood was pouring out prodigiously now, but Loki made no sound and did not move. Neither did the Avengers; even Thor was still, watching Loki. Time seemed to move very slowly.

Then Loki let out a shaky groan, sat up straight, and dug his fingers into his wound.

Still no one said anything, but the shock was somehow felt throughout the room. Tony felt sick. Loki dug and dug, as though searching for something deep within his flesh. His face was very pale, covered in sweat, and his glazed eyes were wide with concentration.

What is he looking for? Tony thought wildly. And then Loki stilled for a moment, and finally drew his hands away. He held them outstretched: in one was the silver chain. In the other there was a deep red gem, and it was glowing lightly in Loki’s palm.

*

Loki eyes were pressed tightly together. He had done it. He’d done it. He could feel the gem, slightly warm, in his hand; he was almost afraid to open his eyes to look at it. When he did though, the trophy room had vanished.

He was out of the ritual. He was in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

 _I must work quickly_ , he thought.

Methodically he began to wind the silver chain around the gem, counting each revolution under his breath. When he got to thirteen the chain was wound entirely about it. And now the final step was before him.

*

Loki’s eyes were no longer glazed over, but it was clear he was barely aware of anything beyond what he was doing. He cupped the gem, now wrapped like a strange little bloody parcel in the chain, in his hands, and held them outstretched.

And then he began to rub his hands together. Gently, but with firmness and precision. Like a potter molding clay with his palms. He was muttering ceaselessly to himself, and between the gaps in his bloodstained fingers, light began to glow. Loki moved his hands faster and faster, and sparks began to fly. He was holding a spinning, sparking orb of light now, and it became wilder and intense with each motion of Loki’s hands.

Then suddenly, he pulled the light to his chest. He pressed his mouth close to the gap between his two thumbs, and breathed into the light, as though he were setting a glowing ember to light. All at once the orb flared with great intensity; it held itself at that pitch for a minute, and then just as suddenly died down.

Loki lowered his hands from his mouth, and placed the glowing gem on the floor carefully. Then he turned and looked at them for the first time since the ritual had begun. 

“It’s finished,” he said, hoarsely, and then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

*

Bruce took the gem and the instructions, and rushed to the room where Coulson’s body had been placed, Clint and Natasha on his heels. Steve hesitated for a minute, then followed them. Thor, meanwhile, had scooped his comatose brother up in his arms.

A voice came over the intercom. “A cot is being brought to the prisoner’s cell,” a voice said. Thor nodded, and continued to cradle Loki in his arms, waiting.

The floor where Loki had been sitting was smeared with blood and smudged Sharpie, and for a moment, Tony was transfixed by it. His reverie was broken as an agent came in, pushing the aforementioned cart into the room. Thor tenderly laid his brother onto it. 

“Doesn’t he need a doctor?” Tony asked.

Thor shook his head. “Now that he has completed the ritual, he should heal on his own. He just needs rest.” 

Tony approached the prone body with some trepidation. Loki looked very small now -- small for six plus foot tall immortal Norse god, sorcerer who apparently could raise the dead, and invader of earth. His body seemed to have crumpled inwards. His closed eyelids were dark, almost bruised looking. The cloth of his robe was encrusted in blood all along his chest and stomach, but it no longer seemed to bleeding freely.

Thor was leaving the room. “Uh, where are you going, big guy?” Tony asked, suddenly nervous to be left alone in here. After all, less than twelve hours ago this pathetic figure had flung him out of a window with all the effort it might take to swat a fly.

“I thought to get some water and cloths, to clean my brother’s wounds,” Thor said. 

“Shouldn’t we put his shackles back on?” 

Thor shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. Though there is no hurry; he will not wake for some time. Working such powerful magic has drained him utterly.” He closed the door behind him.

“Well,” Tony said, and looked back at Loki. “Just you and me, Rudolph.” He took another step; stopped, then took another, and another, until he was right up against the cot. Loki had not stirred, true to Thor’s word. 

Tony had always had a problem with looking and not touching. Ever since he was a kid; it always got him into trouble. As an adult, it had got him into trouble, too, but it had also given him most of his success at life. If you weren’t brave enough to reach right in and grab something, what chance did you have?

He touched his finger’s to Loki’s wrist. Loki remained motionless. He picked said wrist up, and turned Loki’s arm around, and exposing the soft inside of his forearm. It was streaked and stained with blood, peppered in tiny bruises. The two palm prints of blood he’d started out with were barely visible. 

He laid Loki’s arm back down. He felt strange. Maybe it was Loki’s magic. But no, it was a familiar feeling; it was the one he got whenever he was on the verge of something great. Like something powerful was about to come into being. 

Behind him, he heard excited noises. Thor was opening the door; he was holding a damp towel and he was beaming. “The ritual was a success,” he said. “Son of Coul lives.”

Tony felt his lips turning up into a smile. For the first time he realized that he hadn’t really believed it would work. Despite all the crazy shit he’d just seen, resurrection of the dead had seemed … impossible. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You did it, Reindeer Games.”

And that was when he felt a light tugging on his sleeve.

Shocked, he turned back. Loki’s eyes were open, only just a crack. “See?” he croaked, almost inaudible. “I can even put a stopper in death.” Then his mouth twisted into one of those terrifying grins of his, and he faded back out.

*

Loki woke again after almost twenty hours of sleep. Within hours, he and Thor were zipping back to Asgard with the Tesseract. Tony wondered if Loki’s ritual would get him any leniency, if that had indeed been his plan all along. 

Coulson was alive but had only woken briefly; as soon as he was ready he was being sent out someplace warm, maybe Tahiti, for recuperation. Recuperation from death. Tony laughed at the thought. 

“So what exactly were in those instructions?” he’d asked Bruce as they left S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

Bruce had laughed. “It was actually pretty simple,” he explained. “We had to put that … thing that Loki created with the ritual, in Coulson’s mouth -- then we just stood over him calling his name. I think we all felt pretty stupid … then all of a sudden, he swallowed, and took a breath.”

“Wow,” Tony said thoughtfully. 

“I still can’t believe it actually worked.” Bruce shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of stuff; I thought I’d never be floored by anything again. But this …”

Tony knew the feeling.

*

The Avengers went their separate ways. 

Tony went to his lab. He still had that halo of good ideas around him. Magic vibes. He’d maintained it all last night while they ate their fucking shawarma, finally, and it had kept him up while he tried to go to sleep and rest his weary body. Now he could finally start to make use of it.

He stretched and cracked his knuckles. It was going to be a good day. He could just tell.

*

“What did you see, Loki? How were you tested?”

Loki kept his head bowed. Nonetheless, he could feel the All-father’s one-eyed gaze bearing down on him. Of course he wanted to know; Odin wanted to know all. He’d given up that damn eye of his for knowledge, had he not? Loki wondered if he had ever performed the ritual himself. It was possible. Odin was a powerful sorcerer.

“I do not wish to speak of it, your Majesty,” he said, all mock politeness, and stole a quick glance upwards. He was pleased to see dismay on the old man’s face; whether at his reluctance to share information or at his refusal to refer to the man as his father, he did not know.

Odin recovered quickly, however. “And what of the void?” he asked, and Loki was thrown off balance. He had not, somehow expected Odin to ask him of that. “What happened to you there, Loki? What drove you to do these things?”

His mouth was dry. He found he could not speak, not even to refuse to answer. When he looked up again, he saw only concern and sadness in the king’s face, and it sickened him, though he could not tell if it was from anger or longing.

Odin sighed. “We will speak again. Return him to his cell,” he said to the guards. 

Loki allowed himself to be led away. In truth, he’d found he could not forget about what he had experienced in the ritual; he’d dreamed of it incessantly while he’d recovered from the casting, and then ever since he had returned to Asgard as well. In his dreams, Odin turned into the Other again and again; he was stabbed over and over; but when he turned, this time, it really his own self standing behind him.

“Loki.” Frigga was standing on the stairs leading down to the dungeon. She motioned for the guards to stop. “Loki, why do you refuse to speak of this to us? What good does it do?”

“I am not under any obligation to do so,” Loki said. “I should return to my cell, shouldn’t I?” He smiled. _She wants so badly to help me_ , he thought. And then: _But I am beyond help, am I not?_

Frigga gripped his arm. “Loki, such powerful magic can have long-lasting consequences,” she said. “It is impossible to send oneself so deeply into the realm of the dead without exposing vulnerabilities.”

“To whom?” Loki asked sharply. “What more have I to fear?” Unbidden, the image of the void rose up suddenly in his head. The Other. The one he served. The Chitauri. The Tesseract. Neatly, he closed a door on them and shut them away, regaining his composure.

Frigga smiled, sadly. “To one’s own self, of course.” She stepped aside. “I will visit tomorrow, son.”

Loki inclined his head, and descended to his cell.

**Author's Note:**

> My current intention is to continue this story in another work. If I do, it will probably veer towards Loki/Tony. But we'll see.


End file.
